


Thank You for Smoking

by thewicked



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Like, M/M, idk if that's ooc or not, jehan and courfeyrac are best friends who act like squabbling siblings, jehan's really shy and blushes a lot, montparnasse is really nice in this, um there's sex stuff eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewicked/pseuds/thewicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shop AU.  Montparnasse smokes in a non-smoking area, and Jehan has to deal with him.  Courfeyrac meddles, of course, and things snowball into something Jehan never asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> OH MAN. So it takes place in Paris, which I really haven't seen much of, so I apologize if I have some of the details a bit goofy.

_Oh, no, oh, no, oh no, no no_ –

Jehan’s holding his breath behind the counter, watching the customer as he digs around in his pocket for a lighter.  He’s frozen, holding onto the counter for dear life, his eyes wide as a deer’s.  _Is he really?_   He’s too panicked to think to signal Courfeyrac, busy as he is banging around the tight space preparing the morning’s onslaught of orders.  He simply can’t look away from the customer, now fiddling with the lighter to get it in position, his heart hammering as he considers what he has to do.  He doesn’t know if he can do it.

“Jehan, what are you staring at?” Courfeyrac snaps as he whizzes by, careful not to spill the steaming coffee.  “I could use some help here!”

“I know, but – I just… there – there’s a customer, and he – he’s…”

Courfeyrac stops for a moment and follows Jehan’s worried gaze.  “The smoker?”

Jehan only nods,

“What about him?”

“This is a non-smoking establishment!”  Jehan doesn’t speak above a whisper, afraid that the customer might have exceptional hearing and take offense to his accusation.  The guy’s only a few yards away, and he looks like he’s capable of stabbing, or punching someone in the gut.  He has a leather jacket with studs along the back shoulder, at least, and Jehan finds it rather intimidating.  At least, it’s far too early in the morning for any kind of violent confrontation.

Courfeyrac whistles lowly.  “Shit, he looks like he’s got a raging hangover.”  He pats Jehan on the shoulder.  “Good luck with that one.”

“No, I can’t go!”

He gives Jehan a weird look.  “Why not?  The worst he can do is give you a stink eye and _maybe_ shoot you the finger.  There’s no way a guy looking as wrecked as that is going to be throwing punches or knocking small, effeminate young men over at this hour.  It just isn’t physically possible.”

“I’m _shy_ , Courfeyrac.”

“And I’m always encouraging you to break free of your shell and emerge as a blossoming, beautiful social butterfly,” he replies with a beatific smile that quickly turns into a stern look.  “Now go.  The line’s backing up, I need your help, and I can tell that if he doesn’t get dealt with, you’re going to be as useless as a used condom.”  He gives Jehan a firm nudge toward the dining area before turning around to find a lid for the to-go cup in his hand, leaving Jehan to confront his adversary alone.  He swallows, and takes a deep breath.  _I can do this.  I am a strong, independent young man, and I am capable of confronting someone who very likely is a hardened criminal._   Squaring his shoulders, he tightens the knot of his apron and goes to step out from behind the counter. 

It only takes a few steps until he’s standing in front of the smoker.  Up close, Jehan realizes that Courfeyrac is probably right in his assessment – he has dark circles under his eyes, his right hand has his coffee in a vice, and his brows are furrowed in a way that suggests a throbbing headache.  His clothes are rumpled, too, as if he hadn’t gone to bed the night before.  Jehan takes another deep breath.  “Um, sir, um, you…”

Lazy eyes roll languidly up to meet his; they’re very dark, almost black.  “You can’t…”  Jehan realizes he’s barely making a sound and, embarrassed, clears his throat.  “You can’t smoke here.  I’m sorry.”

The eyes are cast down, and a smirk twists the pale mouth as he snuffs the cigarette in what’s left of his pastry.  “Sorry,” he says in a low, clipped voice.  “Forgot about the rule.”  He looks up, raises his ink-dark eyebrows, and smiles slightly.  “Whoops.”

Jehan stares, unable to breathe or think.  He can feel a violent flush crawling up his neck as the customer continues to return his gaze.  “I… th-thank you,” he stammers.  When he suddenly hears Courfeyrac making an unnecessary amount of noise behind him, signaling that he should get out fast, he lurches for the ashy pastry, nearly falling onto the table in his haste.  Face burning, he straightens up slowly, nods to the customer, and turns around with as much grace as he can muster.  By the time he’s back behind the counter, his ears feel like they’ve been set on fire, and Courfeyrac is doing his best to stop sniggering.

“Shut up,” he snaps before any sly comments can be made, briskly making his way to the back, where he tosses the ashtray pastry.  He takes a moment to cling to the edge of the sink and collect his thoughts.

Courfeyrac follows, of course, as soon as there’s a break in the stream of customers.  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” he asks, trying to console his agitated friend.  He puts a placating hand on Jehan’s shoulder, adding, “If it makes you feel any better, he was smoldering just watching you squirm.”

Jehan feels his face flare up again, cringing.  “Please, Courfeyrac – _please_ do not turn this into something it _really_ doesn’t need to turn into.”

His coworker shrugs, mildly offended.  “I’m only saying, it’s been more than enough time since Bahorel–”

Jehan snaps up, his face suddenly pale.  “ _No_ , we are _not_ going there!”

“I just think it’d be good if you tried out something new, that’s all.” 

“The line’s getting longer,” Jehan points out stonily.

“Think about what I’ve said, though,” Courfeyrac urges, surprising Jehan with his earnestness.  “If he’s still out there, will you go talk to him?”

Jehan says he will, but he’s pretty sure he won’t, regardless of who is present.  Courfeyrac leaves, satisfied, and Jehan takes another minute to compose himself before resuming his position behind the counter.  He doesn’t have time to survey the room for studded leather jackets, so he jumps when Courfeyrac comes up behind him and pointedly whispers, “He’s watching you.”  Immediately, his eyes snap to the table in question: he’s tipped the chair back, long legs propped up on top of the table, his feet crossed, one over the other.  He raises a hand in a half-salute, his dark eyes burning a hole in Jehan’s face as he smiles.

Courfeyrac makes an encouraging noise, which Jehan ignores.  He ignores the attention of the smoker, as well, turning intently to the order he was preparing.  Courfeyrac kicks him, and Jehan glares.  “ _No_!” he hisses.

“Too bad – he’s coming over!”

Jehan whirls on the spot, the resulting dizziness nearly making him fall over.  “Oh.”

He smiles and places the empty mug on the counter.  “Can I get the same order, to-go?”

Courfeyrac suddenly nowhere in sight, Jehan looks around helplessly, opens his mouth, closes it, and hums an affirmative, “Mm-hm.”  He shuffles over to the register, hand hovering over the buttons.  “Um.  What – what was your order?”

“Medium, black, espresso shot, nothing else.”

Jehan punches in the order with the utmost concentration, distracted as he is by the way the smoker keeps _staring_ at him like he’s some kind of lagniappe.  When he reads the price out to him, his voice is barely audible, and he has to repeat himself two times until the smoker hands his money over with a sharp smirk.  Their hands brush when they make the exchange, and Jehan wonders if it’s possible to faint if too much blood rushes to the face at one time.

He wanders about the work space in a daze, his stomach in a frenzy as he tries to stay calm; he can feel the smoker’s eyes like a solid weight on his back.  When he passes Courfeyrac to get a lid, his coworker grins.  “You’re blushing like a schoolgirl.”

Jehan just glares at him, blaming him for this horrid situation. 

After handing the coffee over to the smoker, Jehan still feels woozy.  They stay frozen, neither moving despite the transaction being complete.  Finally, the smoker lifts his eyebrows in an appreciative gesture.  “I like your flower.”  Jehan’s hand immediately goes to the bloom he has tucked behind his ear, his blush intensifying and his nerves fraying like old rope.  He barely gets a thank-you out before the smoker’s walking away.

“Dude, he wants you.”  Courfeyrac’s standing next to him, and even though Jehan isn’t looking at him, he can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.  “You better jump on that.”

“You’re delusional.”  Jehan turns away from him to wipe up some spilled creamer.

“Au contraire,” Courfeyrac says, placing a paternal hand on Jehan’s shoulder.  “He was eyeing you like a cat eyeing a nice, plump, adorable songbird.  He’ll be back, just you wait and see.”

Jehan rolls his eyes.  “Whatever.”

“And anyway,” Courfeyrac continues with a laugh at Jehan’s uncharacteristic sourness, “It’s about time you had something to back up your poems again!”

“Excuse you?”  Jehan aims a slap at Courfeyrac’s arm, but his infuriating coworker manages to make a spry leap out of the way, laughing like an idiot as he does so.

“You know I’m right!”

“I know that there are customers waiting to have their order taken,” Jehan says.

“You’ll think differently some day,” Courfeyrac says with a lofty face. 

“Nope.”  Jehan shakes his head.  “Nuh-uh.”

As Courfeyrac punches an order into the register, he says, “Just promise me you’ll do something besides stare and stammer the next time he’s here, okay?”

“Who says he’ll even come back?”

Courfeyrac levels him a look.  “Jehan, he’s coming back.”


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Cosette bully Jehan into talking to him.

He doesn’t return the next day, though, or the next.  Over the next week, Courfeyrac spends his shifts with Jehan in a state of tense anticipation, wilting every time they end without a single sighting.  Jehan isn’t sure what to make of his friend being more concerned about his love life than himself.  If he’s being honest, it’s a small relief every time he unties his apron without spotting spindly legs, spiky shoulders, or sharp smiles.

Three weeks pass, and Courfeyrac all but gives up hope that there will ever be another sighting.  Jehan simply carries on as he normally does, making coffee and scribbling in his notebook during breaks.  A few times Courfeyrac attempts to steal his writing, as if he’s hoping he’ll find Jehan’s thoughts occupied with leather jackets and cigarettes instead of the usual romanticism.  It’s pointless, though – any poems written about _him_ are safely tucked away in his room, away from his roommate, Cosette, who he’s sure Courfeyrac has enlisted as a spy.  And judging from the way she’s picked up a habit of asking vague, probing questions like the one she’s asking as Jehan makes her Wednesday morning cappuccino, he’s pretty much convinced.

“Seen anyone lately?”

Jehan sighs patiently through his nose.  “Cosette, you live with me.  You would know if I was.”

She shrugs, unperturbed.  “I don’t know, it could be something _secret_ … or, you know, maybe just here?  At work?”

He laughs.  “Courfeyrac’s been talking to you, hasn’t he?”

“No!”  Cosette’s a horrible liar, though, and they both know he knows that the real answer is _yes_.  They simply stare at each other for a few more seconds, Jehan knowingly and Cosette sheepishly  As he returns to finish her cappuccino, he says, “I don’t blame you.  Courf’s a charming young man.”

“Aw, thanks little Jehan!”  Courfeyrac’s hand musses the top of Jehan’s head, much to the latter’s mild annoyance  “You brighten my day.”

“As you brighten mine.”  Jehan finishes Cosette’s cappuccino with a foam-drawn heart, eliciting a smile as he hands it over. 

“If you want to stop hiding your poetry, I promise I won’t look through it even if Courfeyrac offers me money,” she whispers confidentially.

Jehan just smiles, knowing there’s no chance he would ever be stupid enough to believe _that_.

**

The big moment happens later that morning, when Courfeyrac is off taking a leak.  Jehan is juggling several orders at once, so he doesn’t pay any attention to the bell above the door as it signals a new arrival.  He’s so oblivious as he pours, stirs, whips, and drizzles that he’s completely taken aback when he finds himself face-to-face with the smoker again, the sudden apparition causing his lungs to stop working.  Finally, he manages to choke out, “It’s you.”

“Hey.”  His smile is small, but it’s there, the lips as pale and sharp as Jehan’s imagination remembered.

He swallows nervously.  “Um, do you – do you want the same thing as before?”

“Your flower is different today.”  Jehan’s face wastes no time in reddening; he’s pretty sure he’s allergic to this guy’s presence.  He _tries_ to smile and mumble something he hopes resembles a thank-you, but he isn’t sure if he’s successful.  By some miracle, he manages to carry out the transaction _and_ prepare his order, trying to avoid the smoker’s gaze and failing as he hands it to him.  When he returns to the register, he finds an inordinate amount of money has been added to the tip jar.

“What’s got you so riled up?”  Courfeyrac’s back, and when he notices the tip his eyes start to bug out.  “Holy _shit_ , Jehan.  What’d you _do_?”

Jehan looks down at his feet, flushing even more.  “I don’t think I really _did_ anything…”

“What–”  Courfeyrac searches the room for the culprit, and when he finds the smoker seated at the same table as before, he grabs Jehan’s shoulder.  “Did I say he would be back, or did I say he would be back?”  

“You… did…”  Jehan doesn’t look up from his feet to see the smug look he knows Courfeyrac’s making, but he’s spared any kind of gloating for the moment when a fresh batch of customers start streaming in. 

“You need to go talk to him,” Courfeyrac says when they’re both at the espresso machine.

“No, I don’t.”  Jehan turns away then, handing the order over with a smile.  When he turns back to Courfeyrac, he’s glowering.  “So stop telling me what to do.”

His friend drops his mouth open in outrage.  “You promised you would!”

“And I can break a few promises, especially if they’re made to _you_ ,” Jehan says childishly.

Courfeyrac puts a hand on his heart.  “ _Jehan_ , I’m hurt!”

Jehan just rolls his eyes and turns to the next customer.  A few moments later, Courfeyrac’s at it again.  “You _promised_!” he hisses.

“I’m not doing it!” Jehan snaps, glancing at the smoker, who’s watching with a bemused twist of the mouth.  “He’s _watching_ , Courf, I can’t – there are customers–”

“We’ve hit a slow spot, I can deal with the customers – now go!”

Courfeyrac pushes Jehan toward the gap in the counter, pushing hard enough to make him trip.  Jehan catches himself, though, and he takes his sweet time meandering his way over to the smoker.  He clears tables, picks up empty sugar packets and crumby plates and dirty mugs – anything to occupy him for a moment longer.  When he tries to get into the back to put everything in the sink, Courfeyrac simply takes it all from him, giving him a nudge backward with his foot and a very intimidating glare.  Jehan sighs and squares his shoulders – and goes to tidy the condiment station, gathering discarded straw wrappers and wiping off spilled toppings.  He risks a glance at the counter, only to find Courfeyrac gesticulating wildly at him to move.  He shakes his head and tries to make his way to hide behind the register, but Courfeyrac pushes him yet again into the dining area with a firm hand.  “Go!” he hisses.

Jehan goes over to Cosette, though.  The last thirty minutes have seen her migrate to a spot near the window, where she’s been watching the people in the street rather intently.  She looks up when he sits down across from her, an eyebrow quirked.

“Do you need another cappuccino?  A pastry?  Some water?” he pleads.

She takes a sip of her beverage, shaking her head.  “Courfeyrac’s making you talk to him, isn’t he.”

“He isn’t…”  He tries a surreptitious glance in the smoker’s direction, and Cosette catches on more quickly than he’d like.  When she gives him a critical look, he shakes his head.  “I’m not doing it!  And you can’t make me,” he adds when she purses her lips.

“What kind of cigarettes was he smoking the last time he was here?”

“Sobranie Blacks.”  The words are out before Jehan’s even had a chance to think, and when he realizes what he’s done, he focuses on a water mark on the tabletop as his face flushes crimson.

“Oh, my God.”  Cosette laughs, high and trilling.  “You remember the brand of _cigarettes_?”

“They were very distinctive, okay?” Jehan tells the tabletop.

“And you smoked Cocktails.”

“I miss those,” he says thoughtfully.

Cosette places a soothing hand on his forearm.  “Go talk to him.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Nope.”

She scoffs.  “Don’t be a baby.”  As Jehan glowers at her in indignant silence, she takes a moment to properly examine the smoker: his hair is pushed back in a careless pompadour, dark circles hug the undersides of his eyes, and the only thing setting his black shirt apart from his black pants and black jacket is its dingy floral print.  He also has a cigarette – a Sobranie Black, as Jehan had reported – dangling from his white lips, unlit.  His droopy eyes flick over to meet Cosette’s, and she joins Jehan in sheepishly examining the table.

“Go,” she urges in a whisper.

Jehan feels his stomach sink, but he acquiesces, tentatively shuffling over to the table.  Watching his approach, the smoker raises an elegant brow.  He doesn’t say anything as Jehan wrings his hands like he’s trying to cut off circulation.  “Do – do you need anything?  A-another coffee?”

His lips twist into a lopsided, sardonic smile as he plucks the cigarette from between his lips and holds it up for Jehan to inspect.  “I’m not smoking this time, see?”

“I – I’m glad you learned your lesson.”  Jehan’s heart is in his mouth as he tries – and fails – to think of the right way to describe the knife-edge line of his jaw.  The smoker looks up at Jehan from under his eyelashes, crooking his lips in a half-smile that sets Jehan’s legs into paroxysms of jittering.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asks, throwing a lazy gesture to the seat across the table.  “It looks like you won’t be allowed back there for a while, anyway.”  When Jehan follows the sly look in Courfeyrac’s direction, he finds his friend shamelessly sticking his head out from behind a customer, staring.  He swallows.

“Um, sure.”  He perches in the seat offered to him, placing his hands in his lap and glancing over at Cosette, who gives him a reassuring thumbs-up.

“So,” the smoker drawls, leaning even further back in his chair, the angles of his long legs reminding Jehan of the chaotic arrangement of pins in a pincushion, “What is a guy like you doing, getting bullied by his coworker and girlfriend?”

Jehan guffaws, flushing magenta when he catches himself.  “No!  Oh, my goodness, _no_ , Cosette isn’t – has _never_ –”

The smoker quirks a brow.  “Boyfriend, then?”

Magenta turns to vermillion as Jehan hides his face with his hands, trembling.  “No!”

He hears a laugh, and peeks out between two of his fingers to see the smoker looking at Jehan with a lazy smile.

“I’m not – I don’t… _have_ … a boyfriend.  Or a girlfriend,” he adds hastily.  “I haven’t, um–” He hides his face once more.  “I’m not talking about this anymore!”

“It’s fine,” the smoker laughs.  When Jehan finally removes his hands, he finds he’s being watched like a mouse before the cat begins to toy with it.  “I was just curious.”  He leans forward before Jehan can reply, “Still, though, I would’ve hope you wouldn’t be the kind of person to take people’s shit like that.”

Jehan looks down at his floral blouse and sea green pants peeking out from behind his apron, wondering what about his appearance could possibly make someone reach that conclusion.  “That’s interesting.”  When he looks back up, the smoker’s watching him amusedly.  “But you shouldn’t assume anything about me,” he adds.  “I mean, you don’t know anything about me, except that I work here.”

The smoker looks down and twitches his lips to the side, tapping the butt of his cigarette against the tabletop.  He mumbles something that sounds like, “And what if I got to know you?”

At first, Jehan isn’t entirely sure he heard correctly.  But when the smoker looks up from under his eyelashes with his doleful eyes burning, he feels something pooling in his gut that isn’t pleasant… or unpleasant, for that matter.

“If you… got to know me?”

Running a hand through his pompadour (and causing a few locks to fall over his forehead in a way that makes Jehan warm all over), the smoker leans even closer to Jehan and whispers, “Think we’ve satisfied your friends?”

Jehan feels his face heat up, his head swimming at the smoker’s abrupt change in direction.  “With flying colors,” he whispers back.

**

The smoker doesn’t stay much longer after Jehan reclaims his spot behind the counter, and before the door has even had time to close behind him, Courfeyrac’s asking in an effusive whisper, “What did you two _talk_ about?”

Jehan shrugs enigmatically.  “You don’t need to know.”

“ _Please_ tell me you at least learned his name,” he begs.

“I…” 

“Jehan!”

“I’m sorry, I got distracted!  He was charming!”

Courfeyrac scoffs.  “ _I’m_ charming.  He’s sex on legs.”

“Please don’t say that again.”

“Whatever.  It’s an apt description.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon!


	3. A Setback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan gets mixed signals.

When he shows up the next day, Courfeyrac nearly pees his pants and makes sure he’s preoccupied putting pastries in the oven by the time the smoker reaches the register.

“Long time no see,” he says, eyeing Jehan’s flaming face as the latter tries desperately to keep his cool.  “Where’s your friend?”

“Baking.”

Nodding, “I see.”

Jehan studies the register as he asks, “The same as yesterday?”

“Two, actually.”

He gives what he can see of Jehan over the counter a once-over that leaves the latter spluttering when he asks, “F-for here or to go?”

“Here.”  Jehan nods his head breathlessly before turning around to prepare the order.  When he looks up after setting the two mugs on the counter, he comes face-to-face with a gardenia. 

“In case the flower thing wasn’t every day,” the smoker explains with an ironic smile.  Jehan’s hand immediately goes up to the anemone tucked behind his ear, his face heating up.  “Obviously, it is,” he adds, raising his eyebrows in a way Jehan _thinks_ could be described as flustered.  But he extends the bloom, anyway, laying it gently on the counter before grabbing the coffees and leaving Jehan choked-up with emotion.

“You okay?” Courfeyrac asks from behind.  “You look like you just witnessed some pretty thing you’re going to write a poem about later.”

“I shouldn’t be friends with you,” Jehan grumbles as he replaces the anemone with his new gardenia.  “All you do is harass me.”

“Hey, it could be sexual harassment.  Don’t tempt me, ‘cause you’re cute enough to tempt me.”

Jehan shudders.  “I’ll tell Feuilly.”

“You will _not_ tell the manager!”

“I will, so don’t even try.”  With a smile he turns to a new customer while Courfeyrac makes a face at him.

**

Jehan spends the next twenty minutes eyeing the smoker as surreptitiously as possible, and when the smoker gets up and approaches him, he panics a little, so he opens the register and starts counting money to keep up the appearance of working. 

“Busy?”  Jehan looks up, and his knees almost buckle at the kind expression on the smoker’s face. 

“Um, you know, just… keeping things… in order.”  He hears Courfeyrac snort behind him, but he does his best to remain calm.

The smoker leans an elbow on the counter, looking up from under his lashes as he whispers, “I need help finding the bathroom.”

Jehan points him in the right direction, chewing on his lips to hide the smile that had sprung up.  He quickly collects himself when the door opens and a petite, dark-haired girl walks in, surveying the room before sauntering up to Jehan.  “Have you seen Adrien?”

“Wh-who?”  Jehan feels his stomach drop at the mention of a name he doesn’t know.

“He might’ve told you he was called Montparnasse.”  When Jehan only continues to give her a mildly panicked look, she gives an exasperated sigh and stretches a hand up to indicate, “Tall, skinny, black hair, black clothes, deadened eyes as black as his soul?” 

Jehan hears Courfeyrac’s gasp, and he has to smother one of his own before he can speak.  “Yeah, he – he’s in the bathroom.  He’s s-sitting over there…”  Weakly, he points out the table.  The girl thanks him with a smile.

The smoker reappears a moment later, and Jehan and Courfeyrac watch with bated breath as he slides into his seat next to her, accepting a kiss on each cheek and laughing at something she whispers in his ear.

“Dude,” Courfeyrac breathes, his eyes bugging out a little.  “ _Dude_.”

“Would you stop saying that?” Jehan snaps, his throat constricting as he tries to fight back tears.  They’ve bent their heads together, and now they’re murmuring to each other like old lovers.  “You sound stupid.”

Courfeyrac turns to look at Jehan when he hears the strain in his voice.  “Are you okay?” 

Jehan simply shakes his head before hurrying into the back room.

**

When Courfeyrac finds him, he’s managed to wedge himself between two crates of powdered creamer.  He gives a heavy sigh.  “Jehan, this is pathetic.  Come out of there.”

“No.”  Jehan gives a sniff, staring miserably at his lap.  “I don’t want to see them.”

“It’s been thirty minutes!  They’re long gone!”

“My shift’s almost over.  Just wait until Feuilly comes to replace me.”

At the reminder of work, Courfeyrac has to go, but he promises Jehan he’ll be back as soon as Feuilly shows up.

“Whatever,” he mumbles.  “I don’t care.”

**

Courfeyrac has to call Cosette when his and Feuilly’s combined efforts fail to bring Jehan out of his miserable hole. 

She shows up straight from her yoga class, not stopping to greet anyone until she’s squatting in front of Jehan.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she asks, gently reaching for his hand; he lets her take it. 

“Do you remember that guy Courfeyrac made me talk to yesterday?” he asks quietly.

She nods.  “Courfeyrac told me what happened.” 

He gives an ironic snort, leaning his head back to look up at the ceiling.  “Of course.”

“You wanna come outside?  We can go to whichever park you want and get some flowers to press.  Does that sound fun?”  He flicks his eyes down to consider her offer, and she wiggles his hand emphatically.  “It’ll be really pretty,” she adds coaxingly.

Courfeyrac and Feuilly watch from behind as Jehan gives one last sniff before mumbling, “Can you help me up?  I think I’m stuck.”

 


	4. Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to look up for Jehan.

He asks Feuilly to give him the weekend off, and he obliges because they’ve all seen Jehan when he’s feeling down on love.  Cosette cancels a date with her boyfriend to spend the night in with her roommate, watching foreign movies and doing DIY projects into the small hours of the morning.  They do this for the next few nights, until Jehan finds himself looking forward to frantically making coffee, if only to get away from the smell of paste and paint. 

On Monday he greets Courfeyrac with a chirpy, “Good morning!”

“I see Cosette worked her magic,” Courfeyrac notes with a smile, “Although Marius was a bit despondent when she cancelled their night at the theater.  Luckily for him, I was around to act as her understudy.”

“Did you perform _all_ of her duties?” Jehan asks slyly.

“No,” he scoffs, his face turning a pale shade of pink.

Jehan just laughs.  “I know what you mean,” he says good-naturedly.

The morning carries on, and Jehan easily falls back into the swing of things.  He chats with the customers, earning more tips than usual, and Courfeyrac looks pleased with himself, as if Jehan’s recovery was his handiwork instead of Cosette’s.

So when the smoker walks in, rubbing his thumb over his nose in a gesture of cool confidence, Courfeyrac throws a worried glance in Jehan’s direction.  The latter looks like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move as the speeding car comes careening closer.

“Hey,” he says with a sloppy smile, his eyes traveling over Jehan in an appraising way.  “I missed you.”

“I wasn’t… feeling good.”  Jehan takes a deep breath, collecting himself.

“Courfeyrac said you were sick,” he says, thumbing through his wallet for some money.  “Wouldn’t say how long you’d be out, though.”

“I didn’t know when I was going to get better.”

When he smiles for a second time, Jehan notices the tobacco-stained color of his teeth, and it makes him woozy. 

Courfeyrac places a steaming mug on the counter with a firm look.  “That’ll be three Euros.”

Perturbed, he hands the three coins over, giving Jehan a searching look before turning around to sit at his table.

“You okay?” Courfeyrac asks in a whisper as soon as he’s turned his back.  “You’re pale.”

“I’m always pale,” Jehan mumbles, looking down at the counter.

“I mean, your freckles are pale.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my freckles.”  Jehan leaves Courfeyrac at the register, and without another word he goes out into the dining area and sits down next to the smoker.

He looks up, surprised at Jehan’s uncharacteristic boldness.  “Hey.”

“Look, Adrien – or Montparnasse, or whatever the heck your real name is–” the smoker’s eyebrows shoot up, and he sets his coffee down before he can spill it, “If – if you’re already seeing someone, please don’t talk to me like you do.  I don’t appreciate being treated like that.”

Spluttering, he sits up and looks at Jehan with utter confusion.  “What?  I – I never…”  He groans and leans back, running a hand over his head.  “God damn it,” he mutters to himself.  “I’m going to _kill_ her.”

“Who?  That girl who came in asking for you the other day?” 

He bobs his head in exasperation.  “That was Eponine.  She – she’s my friend.”

“Your friend.”

“Yeah, friend!  We’re friends,” he says more calmly, looking around at some of the people whose attention he’s attracted.  “Like you and your not-girlfriend.”

Jehan keeps frowning, refusing to soften even as Montparnasse gives him a pleading look.  “I – I told her about you, and she wanted to see for herself.”

His façade breaks as his eyes widen and his mouth falls open.  “What?”

Montparnasse leans back, pleased with himself.  “I mentioned you in a conversation, and she wanted to see why I would waste my time sitting around a café in the morning.”

“I…”  Jehan looks down at his hands, and he can feel his face heating up under Montparnasse’s earnest scrutiny.  “I feel silly now.”

A soft chuckle, and then, “Don’t.  I – I should have told her to reign it in a bit.”

“Is Adrien really your name?”

“It is, but I prefer Montparnasse.”  When Jehan looks up, he shrugs.  “It sounds cooler.”

Jehan nods to his mug.  “Do you want a pastry to go with that?”

**

Courfeyrac beams after Jehan tells him the news.  “I knew it,” he says.  “I knew it all along.”

Jehan scoffs.  “No, you didn’t.  You thought the same as all of us.”

“I did not!”

“Whatever.”

Cosette walks in, then, with Marius tagging along behind her.  She gives Montparnasse a weird look as she passes, but she doesn’t say anything about it when she greets Jehan.  “Morning, sunshine.”

“And a good morning to you,” he says with a smile.  “Your usual cappuccino and croissant?”

“Just the croissant today.”

“Two,” Marius pipes up.  “One for me, too.”

Jehan complies, and as he makes his way around the back, he hears Cosette ask Courfeyrac, “What’s up with him?”

“They were ‘just friends,’” Courfeyrac whispers back.

“And he believes him?”

“I’m not gonna burst his bubble.”

“Well, I’m not going to, either!”

“I just feel like–”

“Here you go.”  Jehan plops the paper bag down on the counter with perhaps too much gusto.  “Enjoy your morning.”

Cosette and Courfeyrac look away from each other guiltily, like two children who’ve been caught with crayon marks on the wall.  Jehan eyes the two of them carefully, his arms crossed.

When the door closes behind Cosette and Marius, Courfeyrac pipes up.  “We’re just worried–”

“You think I’m being naïve, but I’m not.”  Jehan turns away to take care of another customer, and when they’re gone he adds, “And don’t bring up anything about being too optimistic or ‘too in love with love.’  I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?”  When Jehan opens his mouth to defend himself, Courfeyrac says, “I’m only worried about you because of what happened last time.  And I _know_ you don’t want to talk about it,” he adds when Jehan starts talking over him, “but we were all there when Bahorel ended things with you, and you just… shut down, and you stopped writing, you stopped wearing your hideous clothes, you wouldn’t talk to us about _anything_ , and it was scary.  And we just don’t want to see it happen again.  We don’t know if he’s telling the truth, we don’t know if he’s going to hurt you or not.”  Jehan looks over at Montparnasse’s reclined form, giving a small wave when he’s noticed.  “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Jehan says soberly.  “But I can’t be scared to try anything new just because the last time didn’t turn out so well.  And you don’t need to baby me.  I’m an adult.  And anyway,” he adds, “it’s not like this is nearly as serious as last time.  I don’t… this hasn’t been going on for very long.” 

Courfeyrac reaches over to ruffle Jehan’s head.  “Okay.”

Jehan wrinkles his nose, ducking away from Courfeyrac’s hand.  “Don’t do that, please.”

“Why not?” he laughs, chasing Jehan as he continues to dodge him.  “Worried I’ll make your flower fall out?”

“Stop it!”

**

When Montparnasse returns to the counter fifteen minutes later with his mug and a request for the same order to go, Courfeyrac’s conveniently busy cleaning tables, leaving Jehan to take care of him on his own.  And, even though he still can’t look at Montparnasse without turning a violent shade of pink, he’s strangely calm as they make light conversation, feeling a little less anxiety than he’s grown used to.

“What time do you get off?” he hears as he’s sliding the paper insulator over the Styrofoam cup.

“Pardon?”  He looks up to find he’s being carefully studied, and his cheeks renew their flush, much to his consternation.

“When does your shift end?”

Jehan averts his eyes from the razorblade smile and traces a circle in some powdered sugar on the countertop, mumbling his answer. 

“Cool.”  Montparnasse reaches for his coffee, leaving Jehan with a wink before turning around.  As the bell above the door signals his departure, Courfeyrac gives Jehan a thumbs-up from his spot a few yards away.  Jehan simply rolls his eyes, reaching behind him for a rag so he can wipe up the spilled sugar.

**

He’s being honest when he says he really had no idea he would find Montparnasse loitering outside the florist’s next door when he leaves after his shift.  His eyes grow wide when he’s approached, Montparnasse flicking his cigarette into the gutter as he falls into step beside him.  “Have a good shift?”

“What are you doing?”

“Can I take you out later?”

“I–” Jehan stops walking, Courfeyrac’s words from earlier echoing in his head and making his stomach twist.  When Montparnasse turns around, an inky eyebrow quirked, he says weakly, “I don’t… know you very well…”

Montparnasse doesn’t exactly smile, but his lips twist upward, revealing his teeth as he looks down to fiddle with his cigarette case.  Then he’s extending his hand, nodding for Jehan to shake it.  “Hi, I’m Montparnasse,” he says, bright and chipper.  “You may have seen me around recently, because I’m really interested in this barista who wears bright colors and has a different flower in his hair every day.”  Jehan blushes fuchsia, avoiding eye contact as the monologue continues, “I like my coffee black, with some espresso added in, and I like to have it with a chocolate croissant.  I smoke a lot, I like to wear black, I have an ironic sense of humor, and I like walking around the city at night.  A lot of people don’t trust me because I look like a hardened criminal, and if I’m being honest, they’re mostly right.  But don’t let that scare you away!” he adds with an exaggerated expression, “I’m actually really nice, and any of my friends can vouch for me, if you ask them.”

When he finishes, Jehan tries his best to keep from smiling like an idiot.  “It’s nice to meet you, Montparnasse.”

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”  Montparnasse bows, picking up Jehan’s hand as he straightens up and bringing it to his lips.  He looks up from under his lashes, making Jehan go weak at the knees as he lets go.  “I’ll pick you up at eight if you give me your address.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jehan sends a text with his address to Montparnasse’s number.  “There, two in one.”

Montparnasse grins, showing off his tobacco-stained teeth.  “I’ll see you at eight, then, Jean.”

It takes Jehan a while to realize that he’d never actually introduced himself, and that Montparnasse had learned his name from the nametag on his apron.  In the meantime, Courfeyrac comes up from behind and says, “I take back any misgivings I have expressed about this guy.  That was amazing.”

“I told you,” Jehan says loftily. 

Courfeyrac smacks him on the arm.  “Shut up.”  He’s quick to smile, though, to show he isn’t being serious.  “Really, though, I’m excited for you.  Because based on the way that boy kept looking at you, I can guarantee that you’re going to get laid tonight.  And if his past behavior is indicating what I think it’s indicating, it’s going to be transcendental.  Like, I think I might be jealous of you, Jehan.”

Jehan shakes his head.  “I can’t believe you’re telling me this right now.”

“Underneath all that leather and metal that boy is lean, and lithe, and he’s going to climb you like the adorable, fidgety tree you are.  Are you prepared for this?”

“I’m prepared to throw you in front of that oncoming vehicle!”

“I never imagined you’d be so violent, Jehan.  You look like such a pacifist with those flowers in your hair.”  Courfeyrac’s laugh is manic as Jehan swats him away.

“Stop that!”

“I hope you’re stocked up on condoms and lube!”

“Oh, my goodness, Courfeyrac, _no_ –”

“You should get that KY stuff that tingles when you put it on.  I’ve heard some good reviews.  Especially from Marius.”

“Courfeyrac!”

He laughs, and Jehan glowers.  “Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.  “Just promise me one thing, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“And what’s that?” Jehan asks coldly.

“Don’t wear what I think you’re planning on wearing tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idea of Jehan and Cosette doing DIY projects together all the time, making flower crowns and collages and other... DIY stuff... And papier mache. They probably do that too.


	5. It's Only the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date jitters? Nahh

_What’s wrong with my clothes?_ Jehan’s contemplating the contents of his closet now, Courfeyrac’s words ringing in his ears an hour after they’ve been said.  Numerous sweaters and floral prints look back at him, a gradient of pastels that would make any Impressionist proud.  Jehan chews on his lip as he thinks, his stomach becoming more agitated as the minutes go by.  Finally, he stamps his foot in frustration.  “Damn it, Courf!”  In an effort to calm down, he goes over to the window, where he keeps a pot of sweet peas.  He looks down onto the street below, gently playing with the delicate flowers, stroking the petals and checking the soil for moisture.

“I’m stylish,” he tells himself.  “I’m eclectic.”  He looks down at the sweet peas.  “Montparnasse likes it.”  A draft from the window causes one of the blooms to bob, as if in agreement.  It’s settled.

He’s ready long before it’s eight o’clock, and he spends his time in a kind of frenzy where he’s doing his best to try and stay calm but his heart and stomach are working overtime to prevent that from happening.  Cosette offers to wait with him instead of going out with Marius, but he assures her that he’s capable of being solitary.  He sits in the window next to the sweet peas the whole time, unable to focus on anything as he attempts to read several books several different times; finally, he gives up and stares out onto the street, only to find the anticipation unbearable as he looks at every passerby with the hope that they’ll be wearing that studded leather jacket.  Eventually he just curls up into a ball with his head between his knees, breathing deeply and telling himself he can’t call Courfeyrac – he’ll just remind Jean about all the sex he thinks he’s going to have, which won’t be helpful at all. 

Montparnasse is thirty minutes late, for which he apologizes by handing Jean a bouquet of gardenias.  “Oh,” Jean says, taking it without really noticing what’s happening. 

“I’m really sorry,” he offers by way of apology, but Jean just smiles and invites him in.  He stands in the doorway, looking around, and looking a bit out of place, as well, his hard jacket and boots conflicting with Jehan and Cosette’s soft décor.  To Jehan’s surprise, he snorts.

“Is everything okay?”

“This reminds me of my grandmother’s apartment.”

Jehan gasps, and Montparnasse’s snort turns into laughter.  “No, it’s okay, I like it,” he insists.  He walks over to the window where Jehan had been waiting and plays with the sweet peas.  “It’s peaceful, sort of.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.”  Jehan’s in the kitchen, standing on a stool so he can retrieve the vase from where it’s kept above the fridge.  Montparnasse meanders his way over, looking up at Jehan’s outstretched form intently, like a cat watching a bird from the base of a tree. 

“Need some help?”

“No, I’m okay,” Jehan declines, and as he steps down, vase in hand, Montparnasse offers a hand to help him balance.  He declines that, too.

“Are you mad at me?”  Montparnasse looks genuinely upset when Jehan turns around from arranging the flowers; now it’s his turn to snigger.

“I just don’t need help doing stuff I do all the time.”  He smiles so Montparnasse knows he doesn’t carry any ill will.  “I’m thirty minutes late to a lot of stuff, too.  We’re human.”

Montparnasse deflates, as if he had been holding his breath.  “Cool.”

“Well, are you ready?”  Jean grabs a huge knitted sweater from the back of an armchair. 

“Um, you might…”  Montparnasse considers Jehan’s floral pants and pastel blouse before shaking his head.  “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?”  Jehan hugs the sweater to his chest, resting his chin on top of the bundle.  “I want to know.”

“It’s nothing.”  Montparnasse smiles wickedly.  “You look great.”

Jehan can’t do anything except blush.

**

They’re on the Métro for what feels like an hour.  They spend most of it in silence, too, Montparnasse being content to slouch with his hands in his pockets, Jehan being too shy to initiate a conversation of any kind.  Eventually he sighs and leans his head on Montparnasse’s shoulder, causing the latter to jump slightly.  He quickly relaxes into it, though, and Jehan’s pretty sure he sees a slight smile skew those white lips reflected in the opposite window.

Pretty soon they’re crossing the Périphérique, and by the time Montparnasse signals that they’ve reached their destination, they’re in St. Denis.  When Jehan doesn’t follow immediately, he takes his hand, and with a gentle tug leads him off of the train.  Jehan follows somewhat reluctantly; if he’s being honest, he was hoping for something a bit more cosmopolitan.

As the train pulls away, Montparnasse takes a moment to pull out his pack of Blacks.  “Got a light by any chance?”

Jehan smiles sadly.  “I quit a few months ago.”  When Montparnasse raises an eyebrow, he adds in a hurry, “Joly, one of my friends, kept talking about cancer, and eventually scared me enough to quit – he’s a med student.”

Montparnasse shrugs, stuffing the cigarette back into the carton and pocketing it.

“I used to smoke Cocktails, though.” 

Jehan feels his face heat up when Montparnasse smiles, revealing his stained teeth.  “No shit.”

He looks at his feet, smiling sheepishly.  “I liked the colors.”  When he feels Montparnasse brush past him, gently taking his arm to lead the way, Jehan goes woozy for a moment, but attempts to regain himself as he adds, “I know they’re supposed to be for girls or whatever, but, I mean... I guess, if you look at me, it wouldn’t be a surprise.  And Cosette’s boyfriend thought that each color was a different flavor for almost a year, which was funny…”  With his stomach in a knot, he chances a glance at Montparnasse, whose amused smile is enough to send a bloom of warmth through his body.  His brain goes fuzzy, too, and he almost trips over a crack in the sidewalk.  Luckily for him, Montparnasse catches him before he can go sprawling face-first onto the pavement.

“Careful there.”  Jehan avoids looking at his companion as he mumbles his thanks, his face flushing a fresh shade of pink.  “We’re almost there,” he adds, as if to make up for Jehan’s brush with embarrassment.

Jehan just nods, feeling sweat break out in all of his blushing heat.

**

“ _Here_?”

“Not what you expected?”  Montparnasse smugly watches Jehan as he takes in the people gathered around the doorway of a warehouse that looks like it’s been abandoned for twenty years.  There’s some graffiti on the walls, most of it so faded Jehan can’t make it out in the dingy street lighting.

“No, I – I’ve been here before.  With Courfeyrac.”

“ _What_?”

Now it’s Jehan’s turn to look smug as he turns to smile at Montparnasse, whose mouth is hanging open incredulously.  “Just because I look innocent with my flowers and pastel clothes doesn’t mean I actually _am_.”  He really hopes Courfeyrac won’t find out that he had just paraphrased his words.

“I – I never thought…”  Jehan can’t help but notice how lovely Montparnasse looks with his cheeks flushing the palest shade of red – he has to resist the urge to put his hand on one of them, to brush across it with his lips.  Instead he just reaches out and gives a soft nudge.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was like, three years ago.”  He gives him a smile before taking his hand and leading him to the door.  “You’ve got the tickets, right?”

Montparnasse takes a moment to search his pockets, finally coming up with two yellow, crumpled tickets.  He grins, forgetting his consternation and taking Jehan’s hand again.


	6. Blood Oaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “According to Courfeyrac, going through something like this together means that we’re forever bound to one another. He says it’s like the equivalent to a blood oath or something.”
> 
> “You have interesting friends.”

The crushing music is enough to make Jehan’s stomach ache, but the combination of dancing and MDMA are making it easy to forget.  As is the way Montparnasse is leaning into him, pressing as close as he can as they jump, writhe, and sway to the pounding beats.  He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, still able to see the flashing lights through his eyelids.  Montparnasse brings his face up for a kiss, and Jehan all but collapses as their lips move in a way that turns his legs to jelly.  A sigh escapes him, and he feels Montparnasse’s lips stretch into a smile. 

“What?” he shouts.

“You’re so fucking cute!”  Jehan laughs, jumping up to plant another kiss on Montparnasse’s face. 

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there when, before Jehan can realize what’s happening, Montparnasse is lurching past him, a hand on his shoulder forcing him to stumble forward as he hears angry yelling over the thumping music.  He turns around, the drugs making it hard to focus on the heaving mass of arms and legs tumbling across the floor; all he can see are fists flashing like lightning as someone pounds the shit out of someone else.  When he realizes the someone else getting the shit beat out of them is Montparnasse, he can almost feel the gears of his brain clicking into place, and soon enough he’s planting a well-placed elbow in the opponent’s kidney.  The guy arches off of Montparnasse, who Jehan grabs and drags away before he’s able to make sense of what he’s actually doing. 

Out on the street, Jehan can still feel the bass coming off of the building in waves, but the rave is all but forgotten when he looks down at Montparnasse sitting with his back against the wall, his face almost completely covered in blood.  He gasps, his hands fluttering around in his uncertainty as to what he should do.  “Are – are you okay?”

“What… how’d you do that?”  His eyes are closed – screwed up, really, in pain – and his mouth is set in a semi-permanent scowl.  “You just like, _decked_ the guy.”

“Cosette and I took self-defense classes last April,” Jehan says matter-of-factly.  “We had a coupon.”

“They have coupons for that shit?”

“Apparently.”  Jehan leans back as Montparnasse hacks out a loogie of blood and spit.  “Should we look for help?  Get a first aid kit, or something?”

Montparnasse laughs, but it quickly dies down as he winces.  “Fuck, I think that’s a bruise.”

“At least it isn’t a rib.”  Jehan’s trying to be helpful, but if he’s going by the scowl he’s elicited from Montparnasse, he isn’t doing a very good job.  He offers a hand.  “Come on.  We’re getting stuff to patch you up.”

Montparnasse looks up at him, black eyes more tired than he’s ever seen them.  “You don’t have to ‘patch me up,’ I’ll be fine.”

Jehan shakes his head, resolute.  When Montparnasse doesn’t take his hand, he takes it for him.  He grunts a bit as he pulls Montparnasse’s dead weight up, but eventually succeeds, even if he almost takes a tumble himself.  The drugs still in effect, he giggles as he links arms with Montparnasse and leads him down the street.  “There’s gotta be a pharmacy _somewhere_ , right?”

Montparnasse is dragging his feet, though, insisting he’s okay.  “No, _really_ , I’m fine–”

“You’re bleeding everywhere!  That’s not fine!”

He groans, and throws his head back in frustration, and balls his hands into fists, but he lets Jehan lead him down the sidewalk. 

When they reach a pharmacy thirty blocks later, Montparnasse is about to keel over.  He’s exhausted, and repeatedly says so, but Jehan is having none of it as he drags him in by the hand.  Immediately, he goes over to the clerk at the counter, asking about first aid supplies.

The clerk gives Montparnasse a displeased once-over before pointing them in the right direction.  Jehan’s momentarily overwhelmed by the amount of selection there is for bandages and salves, so he grabs the first kit he sees and runs with it, leaving Montparnasse slouching in the middle of the aisle. 

Outside, Jehan’s already hurrying down the sidewalk by the time Montparnasse limps out of the pharmacy.  “Aren’t you going to patch me up?” he shouts after him.

“We have to get on the Metro!”  Jehan’s jogging back to Montparnasse, grabbing one of his hands in both of his before pulling him forward.  “Joly works at a 24-hour clinic and we have to get there before he gets off for the night!”

Montparnasse screws up his face, trying not to laugh at the way Jehan is bouncing down the sidewalk in front of him.  “Who’s Joly?” 

“My friend who made me quit smoking.  He’s kind of a hypochondriac, but he’s really good at being a med student so he’ll probably be a really good doctor if he ever manages to graduate.  He told me once how antibiotic soaps and stuff are actually bad because they mean bacteria will become super resistant and that if that happens, they’re going to take over the world – no, wait,” Jehan’s brows knit together as he tries to think, “No, no… yeah, they’re gonna take over the world.  Or something like that.”  He laughs.  “Just imagine – bacteria ruling the world!  But, I guess… I guess Joly would hate that.  He hates bacteria,” he adds confidentially.

“Oh, really.”

Jehan nods emphatically, and Montparnasse takes this moment to pull him closer.  Jehan, taking this as a signal to kiss, emits a giggle before attempting to reach Montparnasse’s swollen and bloody bottom lip.  Montparnasse turns his head away, though, and twirls Jehan so they’re walking side-by-side again, with Montparnasse leaning part of his weight on Jehan’s shoulder.  Not one to be discouraged, Jehan wraps his arm around Montparnasse’s narrow waist, squeezing a bit and causing Montparnasse to jump slightly and emit a small noise of pain.

“What was the point of getting a first aid kit if we’re going to a clinic anyway?” he asks.

Jehan shrugs.  “I didn’t think of Joly until I was already paying for the kit.  But I can try cleaning you up a bit on the Metro before you scare the living daylights out of him,” he adds, perking up.

“I’m not _that_ scary,” Montparnasse mumbles, disgruntled.

“Well, no, you’re not, but Joly always talks about how scary people with bloody faces are when they’re rushed into the clinic.  He prefers giving shots to kids because then he can also give them lollipops.”

“How kind of him.”

“I think it’s because he feels bad about causing people pain because of what he has to do, so being able to make up for part of it makes him feel better.  He’s a sensitive guy, you know?”

“I’m getting a feel for it.”  Montparnasse grunts, shifting his weight when Jehan trips over the uneven paving.

It’s an additional twenty minutes of walking and stumbling before they reach the station, where, to their luck, the last train of the night is leaving in five minutes.  Jehan buys the tickets, commenting on their good fortune as they wait.  “It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?”

Montparnasse shrugs without commitment.  “Sure.”

There are only two other passengers, a middle-aged woman in a leopard print dress and an old man with a dingy orange cardigan that Jehan rather admires.  He and Montparnasse situate themselves in the back of the train, Jehan perching on the seat next to where Montparnasse is sprawled out, looking like he’s going to slip off if the train hits a bumpy patch.  While Jehan opens the kit and starts rummaging around, Montparnasse presses his fingers to his nose, testing to see if it’s broken.  He winces, and Jehan looks up when he hears a sharp hiss come through his teeth.  “Is it broken?”

Montparnasse sniffs, screwing up his eyes.  “Can’t tell.”

“Well.”  Jehan rips open a sanitizing towelette and unfolds it, taking care to store the packaging in the kit instead of littering.  He starts dabbing it over Montparnasse’s eyebrow, chastising him to keep still when he jumps at the cool moisture. 

They’re quiet as Jehan focuses on doing a thorough job while not prodding anything that doesn’t need to be prodded.  Montparnasse watches him out of the corner of his eye, smiling slightly when Jehan notices. 

Eventually he coughs, asking, “Is there any Tylenol in that kit?”

“Oh, um, let me look.”  After a minute of digging around, Jehan eventually comes up with a small foil envelope containing a single dose.

As Montparnasse swallows the pill, Jehan asks, “Why did you punch that guy?  I mean, you _did_ punch a guy, right?  That’s what happened?”

He shrugs, noncommittal.  “He was being an asshole.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to punch him!”

Sniffing, he tilts his head back and studies the ceiling.  “Fuck, he just… he deserved it, okay?”

Jehan doesn’t say anything, just continues to look expectantly at Montparnasse.  When the prolonged silence starts stretching into awkwardness, he sighs heavily.  “Maybe I just felt like it,” he mumbles moodily.

“You didn’t.”

Avoiding Jehan’s probing gaze, he reaches into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and glaring at Jehan when he reminds him that they don’t have a lighter between them.  “I already fucking know, okay?”

“Why did you punch him?” 

Jehan’s voice is quiet and plaintive, and Montparnasse looks tortured as he runs a hand through his hair.  Sullenly studying the ceiling again, he says, “He – he made a rude gesture at you, and shouted a rude word at us, and it just pissed me off, fuck.”

“I – thank you.”  Jehan’s looking at his hands in his lap now, wringing the bloody towelette.  “That was really sweet of you.”

Montparnasse scoffs.  “It was nothing.  I just don’t particularly care for assholes.”  He flinches when Jehan’s suddenly pressing a kiss to his cheek, keeping his lips on the only clean stretch of skin on his face while the leopard-clad woman several seats away whistles.  Montparnasse immediately gives her the finger, and Jehan giggles self-consciously.

“Thank you for defending me,” he adds quietly.

Montparnasse rolls his eyes.  “I wasn’t _defending_ you.”

“Got a reputation to uphold?” Jehan asks with a sly smile.

He pushes him away with an ironic smile.  “Fuck you.”

Jehan giggles, his peals of laughter echoing around the nearly empty train.  “Not so tough now, huh?” he asks, poking Montparnasse in the stomach.  “You look mean, with your leather and metal and upside-down crosses, but really, deep down, you’re a big softy!”

Montparnasse looks out the window, his face going faintly pink as he says, “You’re such an ass.”

“Courfeyrac says that all the time,” Jehan says.

“Yeah?  Well, he’s right.”

“No, he isn’t.  I’m sweet as sugar.”  Montparnasse gives him a withering glare, but it rapidly breaks down into a reluctant smile when Jehan leans in for yet another kiss.

**

“Fuck, are we there yet?”

“Stop being such a baby.  We’re almost there.”

“I am _not_ being a baby.”

They’re walking again, the glowing sign of Joly’s 24-hour clinic visible from their spot two blocks away.  “I hope Joly’s still working,” Jehan muses as they cross the street.  “Although, I guess it’s okay if I don’t personally know whoever it is that’s there…”

Montparnasse groans, once again voicing his conviction that this trip is thoroughly unnecessary. 

“I know, I know, you think you’re all tough and you don’t need no help from nobody, but I will just feel better if you get checked out.”

“Please, if we continue seeing each other, don’t use double negatives like that again.”

“According to Courfeyrac, going through something like this together means that we’re forever bound to one another.  He says it’s like the equivalent to a blood oath or something.”

“You have interesting friends.”

Jehan doesn’t reply because he’s hurrying through the automatic sliding doors to the girl at the sign-in counter.  “My date got into a fight at a rave and we need Joly to patch him up,” he says.  The girl gives him a weird look before sliding the clipboard with paperwork over for him to fill out. 

Ten minutes later, Montparnasse is slouching on an examination table while Joly glares accusingly at Jehan.  “What the fuck?”

Jehan simply gestures at Montparnasse’s face, asking, “Can you fix him?”

“Are you high?”

“Maybe a little?”

Joly sighs.  “Is he?”

They look at Montparnasse, who shrugs.  “Can’t tell anymore.”

Another sigh, and Joly is sitting in a swivel chair, his long fingers gently probing Montparnasse’s swollen nose. 

Jehan perches himself on the counter and swings his legs like a restless five year-old as he asks, “So how’s Musichetta?”

“You saw her like, three days ago.  She’s doing fine.”

“And Lesgles?” 

“Also doing perfectly fine.”  Joly leans back, looking at Jehan over Montparnasse’s exhausted slouch.  “As is your friend here, who only needs enough time for his bumps and scratches to heal.  There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“But his nose is broken!”

He shakes his head patiently.  “No, it isn’t.”

“It bled a _lot_ , though, and – and it’s all swollen – are you sure you didn’t check it properly?”

“Pretty sure.”  Joly sighs again, rubbing his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Jehan, but it’s three in the morning, and I want to go _home_.”

Jehan plucks a lollipop from the container next to him.  “Thanks anyway,” he says, hopping down.  Joly gives him as kind a smile as he can manage.

Jehan also grabs a sticker from the front counter, handing it to Montparnasse, who looks at it dubiously.  “Tinker Bell?”

“I like fairies.”  Jehan pulls the lollipop out with a _pop_ , blushing when he realizes how the gesture could be interpreted.  “I didn’t… that wasn’t…”

Montparnasse smiles.  “I get it.”

Jehan reaches for his hand, pressing it to his lips once it’s in his grasp.  “Let’s go back to my place.”  When he looks up at Montparnasse’s raised brow, he flushes pink, stammering, “I mean – not in the… not like… just to – to eat something!  I…”  The familiar smirk is back, skewing the bloodied lips.  “I just… I just meant to like, hang… out…”  He takes a deep breath.  “How far away do you live from here?” he says in a rush.

Montparnasse looks around thoughtfully.  “Dunno.  Maybe like, fifteen minutes on the Metro?”

“Well, the Metro’s closed by now, and I’m only ten, and that’s by foot, so we’re going back to mine.”  Jehan’s already off, leading Montparnasse by the hand before he can see the cat-like smile spreading its way across his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I wonder what's next!


	7. Blood Oaths, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, does it really need one? You know what's coming.

Jehan’s always hated the way the halls in his building remind him of a haunted house at night.  It doesn’t help that, as he’s fiddling with his keys, Montparnasse is placing his hands low on Jehan’s hips, pressing close from behind.  He tries to wiggle away, but Montparnasse holds him tight, his laughter feeling like Morse code as his breath hits his head.  “Oh, my God, we aren’t _doing_ that here!” he hisses, but the way he shoves his key into the lock makes an image he’d rather Montparnasse not witness.

He pushes Jehan through the door, his exhaustion forgotten as he advances into the living room, landing expertly on top of Jehan as the latter stumbles over the side of the sofa.  “Please!  Please, ‘Parnasse, I can’t - !”  Jehan yelps as Montparnasse starts nipping at the skin over his collarbone, continuing to squirm as he attempts to pin him down.  “Cosette – she’ll hear – ”

“Don’t care,” Montparnasse mumbles, his breath hot against Jehan’s neck.  Jehan’s becoming acutely aware of the pressure building against his upper thigh, the dread filling his gut as he imagines what’ll happen if Cosette wakes up competing with the growing urge to wrap his legs around Montparnasse’s slender waist. 

“Please…”  Jehan’s protests dissolve into desperate panting as Montparnasse grinds him into the sofa and sucks viciously on the tender skin below his ear.  “ _Fuck_ , oh, my God.”

He’s fisting his hands into the fabric of Montparnasse’s jacket when he moves away as far as the confined space allows, asking, “What about your face?  Isn’t it… kind of sore?”

A flash of teeth, and then Montparnasse is running his nose up the line of Jehan’s neck.  “I’ve done more with worse,” is all he says before he catches Jehan’s lips in his own, pulling and sucking, his hot breath fanning out over Jehan’s already-flushed face.  An airy sigh escapes Jehan as he arches his back, pressing his body closer as Montparnasse trails his fingers down his side, sending a whirlwind of heat through Jehan’s body.  When Montparnasse’s mouth goes back to its preferred spot below his ear, Jehan can’t help himself when he squeaks, “How – how much w-worse have you been?”

Montparnasse doesn’t stop, though, so Jehan gently pushes against his shoulder.  He lets go of Jehan’s neck with a wet smack to indicate his displeasure.  “Are you always this chatty when you bring someone home?”

Jehan goes lightheaded, so much blood rushes up to his face.  “I – I –” He inspects the sofa’s fabric as he mumbles, “I don’t normally bring people home.  At least, not recently.”

“So I’m special, huh?” Montparnasse starts rutting his hips again, planting several kisses along Jehan’s rosy jaw line so his voice comes out muffled when he asks, “Is that what you’re saying?”

Jehan doesn’t give an answer, just runs his hands up Montparnasse’s sides to get his shirt out of the way.  He feels a burst of air as Montparnasse chuckles before he’s sliding his hands up Jehan’s back, leaving their stomachs bare and Jehan nearly breathless.

Jehan’s cock starts to ache as Montparnasse continues to rub up against it, and he whimpers as he starts scrabbling for purchase against Montparnasse’s belt, his desperate fingers clumsily getting in their own way.  Montparnasse offers to help, unbuckling his buckle and undoing his fly with the kind of precision that only comes with a lot of experience.  Then he’s palming Jehan’s swelling crotch as Jehan reaches into his boxers, massaging his cock and throwing his head back when Montparnasse gives a squeeze, stifling a moan that could wake the entire building.

Montparnasse starts searching the waistline of Jehan’s pants, his long fingers probing the flushed skin in a futile search for a fly.

“Leggings.  You’re wearing _leggings_.”  Montparnasse collapses on top of Jehan, shaking with laughter.  “Holy _shit_ , Jehan.”

“I don’t see why you’re so surprised, seeing as I’m wearing a top that obviously didn’t come from the men’s section,” Jehan says breathlessly, searching the gloomy ceiling as Montparnasse only continues to laugh.  “In fact, I’m almost surprised you hadn’t realized earlier.”

Lifting himself up on his elbows to look at Jehan’s mildly irritated face, he settles for a stupid, sloppy grin.  “No wonder your ass looked so good tonight.”

Jehan makes a face.  “Seriously, though, I’m really hungry, and I’d appreciate it if you’d let me eat something before we get up to anything else.”

“Okay, okay.”  He rolls off of Jehan, but not before sliding a hand over his crotch in a way that makes him nearly jump out of his skin.  He laughs, ducking as Jehan aims a smack at his head.

In the kitchen, Montparnasse sits with his feet on the table, watching Jehan as he rummages around the cabinets in a way not unlike a cat watching a bird as it pokes around the grass for a worm.  “Are you sure Cosette won’t hear you banging around the kitchen like this?” he asks ironically.

Jehan ignores him.  “I think the MDMA is starting to wear off,” he says tiredly, sagging against the counter with a container of palmiers in his hand. 

He sighs delicately, taking a pastry out and nibbling on it, the bulge in Montparnasse’s boxers (he’d left his pants on the living room floor) exerting such a magnetic pull on his gaze that he almost misses his sudden question.

“How old are you?”

Jehan swallows, warily answering, “23, why?”

Montparnasse looks down, his lashes casting long shadows over his cheekbones as he gives a low whistle.

Jehan feels his stomach sink.  “How – how old are _you_?”

“Just turned 19,” he mumbles, his cheeks tinted with pink.

Jehan chokes a little.  “Oh, cool.”

“Is that okay?”  Montparnasse is looking up, his eyebrows knit together in worry.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, albeit a little hysterically.

“You thought I was older, didn’t you?”

“Well, you don’t look that young, exactly…”  Jehan looks at his feet, rubbing his tongue along his teeth to catch stray bits of pastry as he avoids Montparnasse’s eyes.  So he’s surprised when he hears laughter coming from that direction.

“I was worried that _you_ – that you were like, underage or something.”

“Nope,” Jehan says, popping the ‘p’.  “No, I’m not.”  He watches Montparnasse’s shadow as it stands and moves toward him.  “I just have one of those faces, I guess…”  Looking up, he finds Montparnasse towering over him, his hands coming up to cradle the nape of his neck.  “Like, a baby face.  I look like a freckly baby.”

They’re kissing again, and Jehan lets out a squeak when Montparnasse lifts him onto the counter, jostling his body so their still-hard crotches end up flush against one another.  A strangled moan gurgles out of his throat as he feels them rub together, the fabric of his leggings both maddeningly thin and frustratingly in the way.  He feels like he’s ready to come already, with the way Montparnasse is pressing up against him, muttering the most obscene things and rocking back and forth until Jehan feels like he’s going to asphyxiate.  He gasps when he feels the waistband of the leggings being rolled down by Montparnasse’s skilled fingers and wiggles back when he goes to cup his ass to remove them completely.  Without much conviction, he moans, “Please, no, please, I can’t – Cosette – ”

“Can deal.”  He lifts Jehan off of the counter to slip the leggings off, hungrily dragging them to his knees before pulling him closer by the waistband of his underwear.  He lets the elastic snap back into place, leaving Jehan whining as he slowly pulls his length out.  Jehan bites his lip as he starts stroking the base of the shaft, twisting his hand while the other pins his leg to the counter.  He leans forward, snagging Jehan’s lips in a kiss as he runs his thumb along the underside, massaging under the head that’s already slick with pre-come.  Jehan breaks off with a whimper and leans his head against the cabinet, crying out when Montparnasse gives a quick squeeze.

“I just,” he pants, his eyes rolling back as he feels pressure around the base of the head, “I think…”  He loses his train of thought as Montparnasse starts trailing slow, slight twists back down the shaft; his hips start bucking involuntarily, but by this point he’s lost all consciousness of where he is.  His protestations turn into nothing but gasping, groaning, and wild fidgeting as Montparnasse continues playing him like some perverse instrument until, with a final, gasping shudder, he makes a mess of himself – and Montparnasse’s jacket.

 “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry – ”

“It’s okay,” he laughs, shrugging the jacket off to reveal a tank top that marvelously shows off his fine shoulders.  “It washes off.”  Jehan watches with a red face as he wets a paper towel in the sink and starts wiping the leather clean.  When he finishes, he tosses the soiled towel in the trash with a flourish.  “See?  Easy.”

“You’re being really nice about this.”  Jehan’s still leaning his head against the cabinet, but his eyes are shut tight, and his face feels like it’s a hundred degrees.  “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t just lose control of my body the way an overly hormonal fourteen year-old might.”  He opens one eye, surprised to see Montparnasse ambling over.  “I _swear_ I’m not some weird, twenty-something virgin.  I’ve had sex before.”

“I believe you,” he mumbles, leaning forward to breathe hotly across the juncture where Jehan’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“No, but seriously.  You’re not – you’re not feeling weird about this?”

“Mm-mm.”  His hands are back on Jehan’s hips, his crotch back between Jehan’s splayed legs, his hard cock making Jehan wish refractory periods didn’t exist.  But as things stand, Jehan’s feeling too weak, too spent to do anything to stop Montparnasse from attempting to devour every last square inch of his exposed skin.  He hums when he nuzzles beneath his jaw, almost purring as he presses a series of kisses along his neck.

“Can I sleep over?” he asks quietly; his breath is moist, giving rise to a veritable range of goosebumps down Jehan’s body.  “Where’s your room?”

Jehan slides off of the counter, pulling up his leggings and not looking at Montparnasse as he takes his hand to lead him down the hallway.  Ignoring the derisive snort elicited by his matronly décor, he makes sure to lock his door lest any nosy roommate attempt to spy.  When he turns back to his bed, Montparnasse is lying on top of his covers, his shirt tossed carelessly onto the floor.  “Oh.”

He swaps his blouse for an oversized shirt and takes his soiled leggings off before hesitantly climbing onto the bed beside him.  “Does that hurt?” he asks, pointing to an angry purple blotch coloring the underside of Montparnasse’s ribs.

He shrugs.  “I’ve had worse.”  He’s watching Jehan intently, his arms crossed behind his head as his eyes follow the arch of Jehan’s body as he leans over to gently press his lips to the mottled skin.  “There.  Now it’ll get better faster.”  Then he’s kissing his way down Montparnasse’s narrow and fidgety stomach, looking up from under his eyelashes before turning his attention to the pair of gray boxer briefs under his chin.  Without a second thought he’s peeling them back and carefully wrapping his hand around the base of Montparnasse’s cock, watching the organ tense as he strokes and twists, a small smile twitching across his face when he hears Montparnasse’s breathing hitch. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, hissing through his teeth.  Jehan just bites his lip, avoiding eye contact as he continues to massage the base, his thumb sliding up to rub the underside.  After a brief glance up – Montparnasse’s belly heaving, his hands gripping the sheets – he kisses its length, stopping every half-inch or so to suck lightly.  When he reaches the head, he gives it a gentle kiss before lightly circling it with his tongue.  His hand still squeezing and twisting, he slips the head between his lips, barely sucking until he feels something clamp onto his head – fingers combing through his hair, nails scraping his scalp as he slowly takes more into his mouth.  “ _Fuck_ – sh- _shit_ – ”  He can’t stop himself when he starts laughing at the intensity of his reaction, the sudden stretching of his lips breaking the suction with a faint _pop_.  “N-no, don’t stop…”

Looking up, he catches Montparnasse’s hazy eyes.  He looks so wrecked already, Jehan wonders how long it’s been since _he’s_ had sex.  His smile widens, showing teeth as he ducks his head to suck lightly on his inner thigh, nuzzling the tender skin and letting out a sigh of warm air – goosebumps rise up like a mountain range, and Jehan feels the shiver that runs down Montparnasse’s body.  He goes to the other side and does the same thing before dragging his nose up and kissing the base of the shaft.  Then he’s kissing the taught skin stretched over his pelvic bone, dragging his lips across the coarse hair, his hands across the backs of his thighs.  After a thoughtful glance to see Montparnasse nearly tearing his lip off with his teeth, he places a firm hand around his hip, holding the shaft steady with the other as he licks up its length.  He hears a whimper, then a gasp as he inhales it all, sliding his hands over his chest as his head bobs up and down. 

“ _Holy_ – ”

His hips jerk, and his legs twitch; then he’s groaning as Jehan releases him, hands in his hair tensing as he rubs his hand up and down, tonguing the tip before taking him in again, wetly sucking in a way Montparnasse never could have imagined.  He looks up, making eye contact as he runs his other hand down one of his thighs, smoothing the goosebumps as Montparnasse throws his head back with a groan, his hands gripping his hair even harder as Jehan uses his teeth to lightly scrape the overly-sensitive skin.

Jehan hears his name muttered a few times before, with a twitch and a curse, Montparnasse comes.  Jehan sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling smugly at Montparnasse’s limply supine form.  “Holy shit,” he says weakly, breathing a lap as Jehan crawls over him to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Told you I wasn’t a twenty-something virgin,” he murmurs.

“I’m certainly impressed.”

Jehan looks down the bed at the mess spilled across his companion’s stomach, as well as his sheets.  “Shouldn’t we clean that up?  I don’t want it to stain.”

Montparnasse leans his head back and chuckles.  “Of _course_ you’re worried about staining.”

“What?  I bought these sheets like, three weeks ago.  They were _expensive_.”

“Yeah, they feel expensive.  What is this, Egyptian cotton?”

“Do you suffer from a condition where you turn into an absolute jerk after you orgasm?” Jehan asks indignantly.

“Yeah, I turn into a total asshole – I thought I told you that?”  Montparnasse laughs as Jehan frowns.  “I’m sure I told you at some point,” he chuckles.

Jehan’s suddenly yawning, falling forward onto the pillows and turning his head to eye his bedmate.  “No, I would remember if you did,” he says quietly.

“Do you remember everything you’ve learned about me?” Montparnasse asks, even quieter.

“Well, I’m very interested in this guy, you see, who wears black all the time and likes to smoke in places where it isn’t allowed,” he murmurs.  “He keeps coming into my coffee shop, and it’s scaring the other customers away.”

“You’ve gotta do something about that, then, don’t you?” he asks with a wry smile that shows the tips of his teeth.

Jehan nods gravely.  “He’s a real menace.”

“I can imagine.”  He rolls onto his side and scoots closer to Jehan.  “Sleepy?”

Jehan checks the time on the bedside table; it’s 4:30.  “ _Crap_ ,” he hisses.  “I have work in…” he does some quick math in his head, “three and a half hours!”

“Better get some sleep, then.”

“You think?” he giggles.

“What about that stain?  You wanna get it out before it settles in?”

Montparnasse is smiling, but Jehan can’t tell if it’s because he’s being sincere, or if he’s making fun of him.  So he rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling, sighing.  “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.  I don’t want to move right now.”

“Blowjobs make you tired?”

“No, but saving your ass at a rave and staying up really late afterword do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //snaps in a z formation


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan's late for work, Courfeyrac's a mess, and Enjolras is an impartial observer.

When Jehan wakes up, the whole front of his body is on fire.  He looks down, only to get a nose full of hair when it collides with the top of Montparnasse’s head.  He’s clinging to Jehan, his nose nestled against his chest, his arm lying across his stomach.  He stirs as Jehan starts shifting around and rolls onto his back after mumbling something about clouds.  In the light filtering through the curtains Jehan can make out the bruises stretching across his cheekbones as a result of the busted nose – there’s a gash above his eyebrow that’s scabbed over, as well as a cut across the bridge of his nose and a raspberry on the edge of his chin.  Without thinking, he leans over to plant a kiss on his cheek before turning to check the clock.  “Oh, my gosh!”

“What is ‘t?” Montparnasse slurs, rolling back onto his side, his eyes only half open.

Jehan’s already running around his room like a whirling dervish, though, and last night’s leggings are halfway up his leg before he notices the stain marring the crotch.  He throws them off like they carry some sort of pathogen and frantically digs through his dresser until he comes up with a pair of green shorts.  The boy in his bed forgotten, he rushes out of his room with only one arm in a floral tank top, shouting at Cosette to ask about the location of his shoes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he yells when he enters the kitchen.  “I’m almost two hours late!”

“Your door was locked, and when I found your date’s pants next to the couch I figured you were busy,” she explains from behind her book.

“I – _what_?”  Jehan flushes violently, looking anywhere but at his roommate as she looks at him with a raised brow.  “You – you didn’t – I – _wow_ ,” he gasps.  “Is it really warm in here, or what?”

“Jehan, I’m totally cool with it,” she says.  “It’s your apartment, too.”

“We – can… can we talk about this later?” He finds his shoes and slips them on, still avoiding her patient gaze.  “I’m late, and – and now is just not the time.”

“Are you sure?  I mean, he’s going to have to get up at some point, right?  Or is he planning on sneaking out through the window?” 

“I…”  The blush refreshes, and Jehan’s running back down the hallway before Cosette can say something smart.  Poking his head through the door, he finds Montparnasse luxuriating in his sheets. 

“I’ve got to admit, these sheets really are something else,” he says with a smile.  His hair has fallen out of its pompadour, his bangs falling boyishly into his eyes as he looks up from his pillow.  Jehan has to put a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. 

“I, uh… I’ve got to go to work, but... I mean, you can stay here.  I’m really sorry,” he adds, grimacing.  “I _really_ want to stay, but this is my third time being late, and I can’t risk being any _more_ late than I already am, and anyway, Cosette’s really nice, she’ll probably make you breakfast if you ask nicely, and she won’t ask awkward questions, and just don’t – don’t think you have to leave through the window, it isn’t necessary – ”

“Jehan.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Go_.”

“Oh, right, um…”  Jehan’s fiddling with his fingers now, unsure of what to do.  “Bye?”

“Bye.”

“Okay.  I’m leaving.  Now.”  He smiles shyly and turns to go, but quickly changes his mind.  Running over, he kisses Montparnasse, forcing himself to pull away before he might end up crawling back into bed.  “Bye!”

He buys a flower to tuck behind his ear before nervously walking into the café thirty minutes later.  Approaching the counter, he’s immediately accosted by Courfeyrac. 

“You’re three hours late!  What _happened_?”

“Hey, Enjolras,” Jehan says, pointedly ignoring Courfeyrac as he grabs his apron and ties it on.

“Hey.”  Enjolras doesn’t look up from his phone as he taps away, but he nods in Jehan’s general direction.

“Planning a big protest?” he asks.

Enjolras looks up.  “No.”

“Well, let me know when you are,” he chirps.  With resignation he looks to Courfeyrac, who’s starting to turn red with frustration.  “Yes?”

“I need to know about last night.  I got texts from Joly and Cosette, all of them really vague, and all of them concerning _you_.”

“Why was Joly texting you?” Jehan asks, horrified.

“He was complaining about my influence doing something with your behavior that he didn’t agree with, and something about fights?  He told me to clean up my act so you would clean yours up, too.  Which,” he adds, scoffing, “is pretty ridiculous.”  He waves a hand dismissively before getting serious.  “But really, was there a fight?”

“I…”  Jehan looks away when Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows.  “You know how you always compare crazy nights out with someone to making a blood oath with someone?”

“Oh, my God.”  Courfeyrac’s mouth falls open in a delighted ‘o’. 

“But don’t think – ”

“Did you guys do the do?” he asks, quiet but delighted.

“I… no, Courfeyrac, we did not do… that.”  Jehan turns away to take someone’s order, avoiding Courfeyrac’s disappointment as he prepares a soy latte.  When it’s over, he leans against the counter and rubs his arm.  “Can we discuss this later?”

“No,” Courfeyrac whines.  “Now is as good a time as any!”

“Is it, though?” Jehan asks as three more customers walk through the door.

Once they’ve been dealt with, Courfeyrac asks, “Did nothing really happen?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I’ve just invested a lot into this relationship!”

“You tried to talk me out of it after that whole thing with his friend,” Jehan reminds him.

“No, that was Cosette.  I _nurtured_ your blossoming relationship.”

“That’s kind of a bold claim, don’t you think?”

“Courfeyrac, do you realize how worrisome your pseudo-incestuous obsession with Jehan is?” Enjolras asks, sounding like it’s taking all of his patience to refrain from rolling his eyes.  “Leave the poor guy alone.  Respect his privacy.”

“I – I don’t – you can’t – I’m not obsessed with Jehan!” Courfeyrac splutters, his face turning pink.

“I’m only saying that the way you involve yourself in his personal life is remarkably weird.”  Enjolras shrugs, looking down once more at his phone.  “He’s a big boy.  He doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand.”

“Now you’re saying I think I’m his _parent_?”

“No, just that you’re incredibly meddlesome.”  Enjolras sighs.  “I’m not accusing you of anything; I’m just stating some observations.”

“And where have you been throughout all of this?” Courfeyrac asks heatedly.  “Not here!”

“In all fairness, Courf, you do stick your nose in my business a _lot_ –”

“Not you, too!”  Courfeyrac lets out a histrionic groan.

“Calm down,” Enjolras snaps. 

“Don’t you have a protest to plan?” he snaps back.

Enjolras coolly considers his friend.  “I already told Jehan that I’m not.  You should have paid attention.”

“Well, I _didn’t_ , so I’m _sorry_.”

“You aren’t sorry.”

“Do you want your coffee and croissant or not?” he barks.

“Make sure it’s a _French_ roast!” Enjolras calls after him as he stomps into the back.

“He’s going to give you a South American blend or something,” Jehan says.

He sighs, checking his phone.  “I know.”

“What do you keep looking at?” Jehan leans over the counter to spy, but Enjolras simply tilts the screen away.

“Just discussing some ideas with Combeferre,” he says offhandedly.

“Cool.”  They lapse into silence, but it’s short-lived; soon Courfeyrac’s stomping back, a to-go cup of coffee in one hand, a rolled-up bag spotted with grease in the other.

“Here, take it.”  He shoves it into Enjolras’s face.  “Now go ruin someone else’s day.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes.  “You’re so sensitive.”

“I’m like, the lightest of all of us,” he scoffs.  “ _You’re_ the one who’s Mr. Serious all the time.”

“And now I’m leaving.”  Enjolras pockets his phone as he juggles the cup and the bag.  Before he turns to go, he adds, “If Grantaire stumbles in later, don’t tell him I was here.”

“Don’t worry, we will!”  Courfeyrac smiles as he waves Enjolras away.  “Now off with you!  Go topple the government!”

Jehan turns to his coworker with his hands on his hips.  “Please tell me you gave him what he asked for.”

Courfeyrac chuckles.  “I gave him lukewarm milk.”  Jehan watches, horrified, as Enjolras takes a sip of his drink, only to spit it out immediately with a cry of outrage.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he chides.

“Yeah, well, saying I’m incestuously obsessed with you wasn’t very nice, either.”  Courfeyrac pouts, crossing his arms.  

Enjolras storms back in, slamming his cup down on the counter and demanding a refund.  “I’m not paying for a practical joke, Courfeyrac!”

“Money’s already in the register,” Courfeyrac says snottily.

“I’ll call Feuilly.”

Jehan gives an exasperated sigh.  “Don’t call Feuilly.  Can we give you another cup for free?  And _I’ll_ make it this time – _he_ won’t be allowed anywhere near it, I promise.”

Enjolras purses his lips.  “Fine.”

**

Jehan’s busy writing in his notebook when the bell above the door chimes and Montparnasse walks in, followed by his not-girlfriend.  Jehan’s completely lost in thought, tapping his pen against his lower lip and thinking for the right word, so he’s surprised and slightly horrified when they sit down opposite him. 

“Hey.”  Montparnasse is smiling when Jehan looks up.  “Long time no see.”

“A very long time,” he replies with a shy twitch of the lips.  He flicks his eyes over to the girl, examining her: she has bangs, and her leather jacket and ripped purple top match Montparnasse’s jacket and inverted cross; in fact, they match so well Jehan temporarily wonders if they might be part of some kind of fashionable gang.

“Um, this is Eponine,” Montparnasse says, gesturing to his companion.  “You met her, once – well, sort of.”

Eponine smiles, a little sheepishly, if Jehan has anything to say about it.  “How’s it going?”

“She, uh, wanted me to introduce you after we, um.  Went out.”

“Oh.”  Jehan looks down at his notebook, flushing.

“Adrien’s told me a lot about you,” she offers.  She leans forward, a hand up to her mouth as she whispers, “He wouldn’t shut up about you for the _longest_ time.  It was really cute.”

She gives him a wink as she sits back, ignoring Montparnasse’s paranoid glare.

“Do you guys want anything?” Jehan asks.  “I’m on my break, but I can still make you something.”

Montparnasse holds up a hand and starts to say they’re good, but Eponine interrupts, saying, “Can I get a latte?”

“Of course.”

Montparnasse promises Jehan that he doesn’t have to, but soon enough he’s snapping at Courfeyrac to _let him through, Jesus Christ_ , while the latter tells him he isn’t allowed to leave his post-date bubble of happiness.

“I’m seriously going to just deck you one of these days,” Jehan says.  “Like, knock you out, you have to go to the hospital, deck you.”

“ _How_ do you look one way and act the complete opposite?” Courfeyrac asks, horrified.  “You’re terrifying!”

“Just let me through, _please_.”

Montparnasse is grinning by the time he’s placing Eponine’s steaming latte down in front of her.  “Do you and Courfeyrac always act that way?”

“What, you mean like squabbling siblings?  Pretty much.”  Jehan shrugs after he sits down.  “I’ve known him since primary school.”

They chat until Jehan has to go back to work fifteen minutes later, and then Montparnasse is stopping him with a hand on his arm before he disappears behind the counter.  “How do you feel about Lebanese food?”

“I feel intrigued because you’re asking about it rather cryptically.”

When Montparnasse smiles at this wry comment, it isn’t the self-confident smirk Jehan’s come to fantasize over when he’s alone in bed – it’s self-conscious and goofy, and it’s all Jehan can do to keep from dragging him into the back and riding him into the floor.  “I was… I was wondering if you wanted to eat it?  I know this restaurant and it’s fucking unbelievable.  You’ll love it.”

Jehan smiles, biting his lip.  “Tell me when, and I’m yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's... it..???? I hope you liked it!! I apologize for the rather lackluster ending; I'm not very good at last lines so I just figured I would end it before I did something I regretted.
> 
> But yay Lebanese food~


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